The
declaration of martial law
in Poland in mid-December
1981 by General Jaruzelski
surprised and shocked the
entire nation. Paszkowski,
having then worked in the
SB for five long years,
watched in horror the terror
inflicted on the civilian
population as punishment
for wanting to be free.
Shooting unarmed bystanders,
arrests and tortures - none
of these sat well with his
notion of being alert against
enemies of the state. He
also wanted out of a vocation
that had scarred badly what
remained of his conscience.
He started to plan his escape
to the West. Cases of desertion
were heard by court martial
and the penalties upon conviction
included capital punishment.
He couldn't just resign;
facing a court martial wasn't
his idea of a way out. He
was determined to leave
the country illegally.

When the Communist regime
declared war on it's own
people in the name of whom
it was supposed to govern,
my trust in the system collapsed.
I felt cheated and denied.
My loyalty ended. The whole
system of values I had learned
to cherish and the truths
I was raised on seemed to
crumble on the night a general
in dark glasses with an
expressionless face put
a gun to the heads of my
people and ordered, `Quit
thinking freedom or I shoot.'
I knew I could neither work
nor live under such a system
of lies, double standards
and hypocrisy. The act of
terror against innocent
civilians especially revolted
me. I had to restrain myself
from saying openly what
I thought about the oppression
and acts of brutality by
special police forces I
witnessed. That would get
me into trouble with my
superiors and earn a lengthy
jail sentence. I decided
I wouldn't rot in Communist
jail nor participate in
the further violation of
my country. I decided to
escape to the West. Planning
how to do it became an obsession.

Polish
borders were sealed. Later
when travel restrictions
were somewhat more relaxed,
an intelligence agent could
still not count on being
let out. Organized vacations
to other Communist countries'
resorts for the service
were suspended indefinitely.
I wasn't Colonel Kuklinski
(who escaped to the U.S.)
or another top gun in the
service who could escape
using a military plane.
I could only rely on myself
to design a get-away plan.

Paszkowski
shared his decision to leave
the country with his childhood
friend, Staszek. Together
they came up with a plan
to escape to the West through
a socialist satellite country.
Paszkowski, as an SB agent,
could not apply officially
for a passport or closely
monitored group vacation
abroad. He prepared a false
passport and Polish citizen
identification and through
a bribed employee in a state-owned
travel agency was put on
a list of those bound for
an organized tour to sunny
Bulgaria. The phoney passport
would only allow him to
travel within the Communist
bloc. The plan was to escape
to Turkey, Greece or Yugoslavia
once in Bulgaria. The day
before the group's departure,
Paszkowski did not report
back to the military camp.
From that point on he was
a deserter - a solitary
figure on the run - a status
that was going to stay with
him for many years to come.

He
boarded the train for Varna
in Warsaw equipped with
innocent looking tourist
luggage, false documents
and the American money he
had bought on the black
market, having sold everything
he owned in Poland. Instinctively,
he looked over his shoulder
as if to make sure he wasn't
in immediate danger of arrest.
Ryszard knew his desertion
was obvious now and that
he was already being hunted
across Poland. There was
no way back for him. Paszkowski
and Staszek shared the assigned
train compartment together
with two kind ladies. As
soon as the train left the
station, a generous supply
of vodka packed for the
trip came in handy. Staszek
took out his guitar and
started singing while Paszkowski
and the ladies joined in
the chorus. Time flew by
and before they knew it
the train had reached the
Soviet Union border. On
the 30th of May, 1982, Paszkowski
left his country.

Over
the short distance the train
had to travel within the
Soviet Union on its way
to Bulgaria via Romania,
it was escorted by the Soviet
Army. Soldiers entered each
car with dogs. The passengers
were told to close the windows,
not to look out or throw
anything out of them. Obviously,
Moscow was afraid Poles
would drop leaflets urging
Ukrainians to rebel. The
passengers felt imprisoned
under the close watch of
the Soviet guards. Some
onlookers in the passing
villages managed to flash
victory signs with their
fingers to the passengers
on the train, risking imprisonment
for their gestures. Once
the train reached Romania,
the Soviet guards left and
the passengers relaxed.

Staszek
was now happily and loudly
singing songs from his anti-Communist
repertoire. He wasn't afraid
as the Romanians couldn't
understand the Polish language,
and the Polish passengers
visibly enjoyed such rare
moments of making fun of
discredited political figures
in their country.

One
passenger, however, did
not appreciate the singing
of Staszek. He was a retired
SB agent assigned to the
vacationing group to watch
over them once abroad. He
complained to the tour guide,
who in turn asked Staszek
to tone down his singing
because the agent threatened
to report Staszek to the
authorities on their return
to Poland. This infuriated
Staszek, who began to sing
even louder so that the
agent could hear better.
"The guardian angel", as
they called the agent from
then on, was the brunt of
much mischief during their
stay in Bulgaria.

The
sandy Bulgarian beaches
and warm waves of the Black
Sea were much appreciated
by the Poles. Paszkowski
and Staszek joined the others
on the beaches. The hot
weather and the vacation
lifestyle were not conducive
to planning a dangerous
escape, but Paszkowski knew
he had to move ahead with
his plan. While the other
tourists traded goods brought
from Poland which were in
short supply in Bulgaria,
Paszkowski and Staszek pumped
a befriended Bulgarian for
information about security
on the borders. The border
with Turkey was virtually
impossible to penetrate,
so they looked at Bulgaria's
frontiers with Greece and
Yugoslavia. They hitchhiked
to a small village near
the Greek border and that
night headed toward the
boundary on foot. The walk
was treacherous and lined
with poisonous snakes which,
when stepped on, emitted
eerie hissings. They had
to rest often as Staszek,
no fitness buff, needed
frequent rests. During the
day, they hid, making sure
nobody noticed them because
the region was full of people
loyal to the Communist regime,
who would gladly report
two strangers.

On
the second night, Staszek
stepped on a border trap
which released a rocket.
Helicopters were soon flying
overhead. Dogs were barking
and Bulgarian soldiers quickly
formed a circle around the
two men. Staszek kept his
cool, however, and when
the first soldier appeared
with a cocked rifle, Staszek
threw himself at him, embracing
him warmly and thanking
him for saving their lives.
He made up a story that
the pair had got lost after
sightseeing at a historic
site near the border and
had been lost in the woods
for two days, unable to
find the way out.

They
were interrogated by an
officer, who later tried
to steal Paszkowski's binoculars
while treating them to Bulgarian
vodka. When he discovered
Paszkowski's nail clippers,
he insisted they had tried
to use it to cut through
the fence wire - a flimsy
argument at best. They held
to their story and in the
morning they were driven
out of the border area with
a stern warning not to approach
the border again.

Quite
discouraged, the two returned
to the sea resort of Varna,
rejoining their tour group,
and anxiously plotting their
next move because the group
was scheduled to return
to Poland shortly. They
resolved to travel with
the others, leave the train
in Bucharest, and attempt
to cross the Yugoslav border
from there. While in Bulgaria,
they bought wheat coffee
which they would later sell
as real coffee in Romania
where food shortages were
already acute. On reaching
Bucharest, they left the
group, telling the official
`guardian angel' assigned
to them to give Poland's
General Jaruzelski and all
other Communists a good-bye
message: "Kiss our butts."

On
the steps of the then Ceaucescu
palace in Bucharest, they
sold their fake coffee to
supplement their dwindling
funds by charging ten times
more than they had paid
for it in Bulgaria. They
were later arrested on a
train bound for the border
town of Timosara after being
reported as `suspicious'
to police, but soon bribed
their way to freedom with
the remainder of their fake
coffee. By then, they had
plenty of Romanian money,
but couldn't stay at a hotel
because under the Ceaucescu
regime tourists needed to
show a document proving
their money had been exchanged
legally. Residents in the
street refused to put them
up as they could face five
years in jail for providing
illegal accommodation to
foreigners. Eventually,
they slept on a park bench.
Paszkowski grumpily commented
to Staszek, "You can cover
yourself with the Romanian
paper money when you get
cold."

The next day we planned
to get to the border zone
30 kilometres outside of
Timosara. We knew only people
with special permits from
the Romanian regime could
enter the border zone. That
is why we could only move
at night, even more so because
there were no forests or
even bushes in the area,
only corn fields.

We left our luggage at a
locker in the train station
in Timosara and that evening
followed the Bega Canal
heading towards Yugoslavia.
On the opposite side were
corn fields. Late that night,
we reached the border. I
could almost smell freedom
blowing in the breeze from
Yugoslavia.

At the border crossing stood
a small guard house for
the Romanian border protection
unit. We could hear loud
laughter and music - obviously
a party was in full flight.
We decided to hide in a
corn field until morning
to assess the situation,
and try to cross the following
night. The corn was almost
two metres high and provided
a perfect hiding place.
We lay down on the ground
trying to sleep, but mosquitoes
bit mercilessly even through
the thick sweater I wore.

As the sky brightened toward
dawn, the view became quite
encouraging. The field in
which we hid was between
two canals. The second canal
was not marked on our map.
Beyond it was an empty field
of freshly ploughed soil
and fences of barbed wire
watched over by soldiers
from a tower. The ten we
counted appeared to lack
any routine and were doing
pretty much what they felt
like. They seemed to like
to drink and party in the
evening.

The border guardhouse was
surrounded by a wire fence
more than six feet high.
I didn't think Staszek was
fit enough to crawl the
long distance to the barbed
wire fortifications and
then tackle them. It was
out of the question. Considering
the apparent lack of work
routine and messy habits
at the guardhouse, I felt
we could enter Yugoslavia
through the guardhouse itself.
We would only have to wait
until night fell and the
soldiers were drinking and
the music was loudest, then
climb the fence on one side,
run through the guardhouse
area and climb over the
other fence to Yugoslavia.
We could see through the
wire the border pole of
Yugoslavia and we were mesmerized
by it, or more likely by
what reaching it would mean
to us.

It was scorchingly hot.
We had nothing to drink
nor eat. The entire day
without a drop of water
in the oppressive heat was
probably worse than being
eaten alive by killer mosquitoes
at night. Staszek seemed
to be at the end of his
physical endurance and I
tried to keep up his spirits
as well as I could as the
day dragged on mercilessly.

Night finally fell and the
guards started their nightly
party. The laughter and
singing coming from the
guardhouse grew louder.
Occasionally we would hear
a barking dog kept somewhere
near the guardhouse. `Let's
go', I said to Staszek.
I felt a shot of adrenalin
as we gingerly approached
the guardhouse and I brushed
aside the stray thought,
`It's worth it!'

Paszkowski
climbed the first fence
and Staszek managed to follow
with difficulty. They crawled
past the lit windows with
music blaring above them,
finally gaining the second
fence. Paszkowski cleared
it, but his friend's clothes
caught and he was left hanging
on the wire. Paszkowski,
now in Yugoslavia, climbed
back into Romania to help.
Suddenly, a dog appeared
and viciously attacked Paszkowski.
Guards quickly surrounded
them, kicking Staszek who
was lying on the ground
with their heavy army boots
and beating them both with
rifle butts. Finally, the
ordeal ended and they were
taken inside the building.

The
prisoners gave their prepared
story: A man in a white
Mercedes had picked them
up on the road. When he
later turned out to be gay
and made advances to them,
they got out of his car
and were lost trying to
walk back to Timosara. When
they saw the fence blocking
their way they tried to
get through it. They had
no idea it was a border
crossing.

Somehow,
their witless captors appeared
to believe their tale, as
the physical abuse did not
resume and they were offered
some water. The next two
days and nights were spent
in a primitive militia cell
without food or water. On
the third day, a civilian
gave them their passports
and released them, saying,
"Go home."

They
later picked up their things
at the baggage deposit in
Timosara and left by train
for Budapest. They hoped
it would be easier to cross
the border from Hungary
to Yugoslavia because Hungary
was considered the most
liberal member of the Communist
bloc.

In
Budapest they exchanged
their Romanian money on
the black market and with
Hungarian forints bought
camping equipment, a tent
and mattresses and left
for Balaton Lake, the country's
most popular resort. They
spent several weeks camping,
enjoying the company of
the young women they encountered.

Their
plan was now to go to the
city of Nagykanisza - twenty
kilometres from the border
of Yugoslavia and attempt
to cross the border there
at night. They checked their
tourist map and discovered
there was a camp site located
within the city. The excuse
for going there thus seemed
plausible.

The
train to Nagykanisza left
the crowded station while
Paszkowski and Staszek dozed
off in their compartment.
The train had stopped at
a few smaller stations when
a man in civilian clothes
entered their compartment,
woke them up, showed them
some identification, and
seemed to demand something
of them. As he spoke only
Hungarian, the pair had
no idea what he wanted.
They showed him their train
tickets but he pushed them
aside. "Passports, passports",
he demanded angrily. They
thought it strange that
he wanted to see their passports.
After all, they weren't
near the border crossing,
which was some 50 kilometres
away; the train didn't go
farther than Nagykanisza.

They
handed him their passports.
He flipped through them
slowly, returned them, and
left. On arrival at the
Nagykanisza train station,
there was a small army of
men in civilian clothes
waiting for them, including
the official who had checked
their passports.

The
group of Hungarian agents
lead Paszkowski and Staszek
into a waiting military
bus and without a word of
explanation took them to
a military jail and placed
them in separate cells.
All their belongings, including
cigarettes, were taken away.
Paszkowski and Staszek had
a story prepared earlier
in case of interrogation;
it was short and simple:
they wanted to do some sightseeing
in Nagykanisza, spend some
time camping there and then
return to Poland. The Hungarian
jail in comparison with
the Romanian one was luxurious:
clean, quite comfortable
beds with clean sheets and
very good food.

When
the door to Paszkowski's
cell finally opened, a grim-faced
guard stood outside. Paszkowski
tried to talk to him without
success. Apparently the
guards had orders not to
talk to prisoners. The interrogations
began the following day,
each of them done separately
so they could not have any
contact with each other.

Paszkowski
was shown into a room in
which there were a number
of people, including two
men in army uniforms, a
female stenographer and
a Polish interpreter. A
young officer with a dark
complexion and black eyes
put the questions. "A cigarette?",
he asked politely, then
proceeded with standard
ones: "Name?", "Address?",
"Date of birth?"

The
officer's piercing eyes
seemed to see through Paszkowski
when he stuck to his version
of the story of why they
were so close to the Yugoslav
border. "We know everything,"
the other finally said.

"We've
been in touch with the Polish
Embassy in Budapest and
they told us to have the
military prosecutor charge
you with attempted escape
to Yugoslavia. You'd better
tell us everything or you'll
face a long and difficult
future in prison."

They
were bluffing. Paszkowski
knew they knew nothing.
Their threats were convincing,
yet Paszkowski realized
that they had not a shred
of evidence. Having been
taken off the train far
from the border the officers
could only suspect the pair
was planning to escape.
They had no proof and were
simply trying to scare him
into confessing. Paszkowski
learned that Nagykanisza
was indeed in the border
zone, and the camp site
on their map must have been
a mistake.

With
a calmness that seemed to
infuriate the officer, Paszkowski
played the role of naive
tourist and kept repeating
his story of two tourists
wanting to spend some time
in this beautiful city.
He sounded genuinely hurt
that a friendly Communist
government would treat tourists
this way.

The
questioning lasted for hours.
The officer in charge was
eager to uncover a plot
that could earn him a promotion,
so he relentlessly attempted
to extract a confession.
Alternatively, he used politeness
and then threatened to beat
him up. Paszkowski tensed
up, prepared to hit back
if his captor used force,
knowing that would complicate
things even more, but unwilling
to sit still for any physical
abuse. After several hours,
Paszkowski was returned
to his cell. He could hear
Staszek being taken for
his turn. Staszek would
say nothing, Paszkowski
was confident. Their scare
tactics wouldn't work with
his friend.

Staszek's
interrogation lasted only
ten minutes before he was
returned to his cell. Paszkowski
couldn't talk to him or
shout down the corridor
as they were forbidden to
do so by the guards. Since
their cells were near each
other and the doors were
open, Staszek used Morse
code with his finger against
the table to get a message
to Paszkowski. "Stupid s.o.b.s."
Paszkowski smiled, knowing
they had failed to get anything
out of him.

Later
in the day, the officer
in charge attempted to break
their friendship by forbidding
the guards from giving Staszek
cigarettes, while loudly
ordering them to furnish
Paszkowski with cigarettes
whenever he wanted. The
idea was to make it look
as if Ryszard was being
rewarded for talking. The
two friends laughed at this
primitive manoeuvre.

Paszkowski
later attempted to bribe
a guard into giving Staszek
some cigarettes with $100,
the equivalent of two months
pay for the guard, but he
refused the money, fearing
other guards would report
him. The next day, Paszkowski
was brought before the military
prosecutor, an angry-looking,
old colonel. "Did you want
to escape to Yugoslavia?",
he asked.

"No,
I didn't," replied Paszkowski.

"We
are turning you over to
the Polish authorities.
They are here, waiting for
you," he said with a threat
in his voice watching Paszkowski
for signs of fear. Paszkowski
knew the prosecutor was
bluffing. "Very well," he
said. "At least I'll be
able to talk to someone
who doesn't talk nonsense."

Staszek
was also taken to meet the
prosecutor and returned
to his cell after a short
absence. An hour later,
they were both given their
belongings, put in a military
vehicle and driven by the
officer and a translator
to the train station. They
were put on a train to Budapest.

"You've
got 48 hours to get out
of Hungary," said their
interrogating officer, angry
and disappointed with his
failed arrest.

"The
guards on the border with
Czechoslovakia know about
you, and if you don't leave
our country, we'll find
you and put you away for
a good, long time."

Not
knowing whether or not to
believe him, they stayed
on the train to Czechoslovakia
and once at the border discovered
no one knew about them.
They spent two weeks in
Czechoslovakia and garnered
what information they could
about the border crossing
from people they met in
bars. Paszkowski knew from
his SB briefings that the
West German-Czechoslovakian
border was one of the two
best guarded borders within
the Soviet bloc. Only the
frontier between East and
West Germany was better
guarded. Attempts to cross
at night often ended tragically
as guards were ordered to
shoot-to-kill. Also, Staszek
wasn't strong enough to
try such a strenuous and
dangerous undertaking.

Despite
the warning from the Hungarian
officer, they returned to
Hungary. They felt safer
there, a bit farther away
from Poland, but they were
rapidly running out of money
and borders.

At
one point, after going without
food for two days, Paszkowski
decided to use skills he
had acquired at the KGB
training camp. The best
place to get food was in
a restaurant. They chose
a place which closed at
10:00 p.m. Paszkowski told
Staszek to wait outside
and a quarter hour before
closing time entered the
restaurant and went to the
men's room. Above the washroom
door was a huge gap between
the ventilation pipe and
ceiling. Paszkowski climbed
up and hid himself on the
pipe waiting for closing
time. He waited an extra
half-hour after everyone
went home and the cleaning
lady had done her job. After
checking to ensure that
everyone had gone, he opened
a window to let Staszek
in.

They
first forced open the cash
register and took all the
money that was there, then
settled down to feast on
food found in the kitchen.
They then took a few cartons
of cigarettes and left.

With
full stomachs and some money
in their pockets, they returned
to Balaton Lake and the
same campground they had
left a few weeks earlier.
Lying on the beach enjoying
the warm weather, they wondered,
"What next?". Their options
were evaporating. Exhausted
by their attempts to escape,
almost out of money, and
unwilling to return to Poland
where one would face a long
jail term and, in Paszkowski's
case, the death penalty,
they agreed that their only
hope was to hijack an airplane
in order to get to the West.
With passports that were
only valid for travel within
Communist countries, getting
on a flight for anywhere
outside the bloc was out
of the question. They would
simply be turned away at
the counter when trying
to purchase the tickets.

Paszkowski
had learned to make bombs
for terrorism purposes during
his KGB training, but he
was now reluctant to use
violence. They just needed
something realistic-looking
enough to scare the crew
of the plane into cooperating.
He bought the necessary
components: four candles,
electric wire, insulating
tape, a battery and a switch.

How
to smuggle the bomb aboard
the aircraft? Paszkowski
devised a plan. They bought
a fruit and candy basket.
The store clerk was pleased
to put their package at
the bottom of the basket,
covering it with fresh fruit
and candy and professionally
wrapping it. She presumably
thought her customers wanted
to smuggle something innocent
into Poland and was eager
to help.

Their
final night in Hungary was
spent sleeping on a park
bench, taking turns so no
one would steal their treasure
- the basket and `the bomb'.
They chose to fly to Munich
as it was the nearest large
city in West Germany. They
wanted to spare passengers
any unnecessary moments
of fear. They knew Germany
wouldn't extradite them
to Poland, although they
expected to end up in jail
for some time.

At
the Budapest airport, Paszkowski
carried the basket. With
no difficulty at all, both
men proceeded through what
then passed for airport
security in Budapest and
boarded a Polish LOT flight
bound for Warsaw. It was
August 25, 1982. Paszkowski
knew very well that if this
final attempt failed, he
would be flown directly
into the arms of his former
colleagues at the Polish
Security Service.

"This
is a hijacking. We demand
you fly to Munich", Paszkowski
whispered to the flight
attendant bent over politely
to listen to him. Her friendly
smile froze as she gazed
at his intense brown eyes.
"If you refuse, we'll blow
up the whole plane", he
added pointing at the bulky
package in his lap. The
woman said she must talk
to the pilot and left immediately.

Paszkowski
followed her with his eyes
and then looked up and down
the aisle. Everything seemed
normal. The older lady sitting
next to him was dozing off.
An officer appeared within
the next two minutes and
introduced himself as the
navigator. Paszkowski repeated
his oft-rehearsed lines
about the hijacking.

The
navigator attempted to negotiate,
claiming there was not enough
fuel to fly to Munich even
though it was a comparable
distance to Warsaw. Then
he tried to persuade him
to go to West Berlin, but
Paszkowski was afraid he
would cheat and land in
East Berlin instead. "You
have exactly three minutes
to turn the plane around
and fly to Munich. Otherwise
I activate this bomb", he
said placing his thumb on
the switch.

The
other left. Passengers were
busy talking, preoccupied
with their own affairs.
The flight attendants were
serving meals and drinks;
children were running up
and down the aisles. No-one
was aware that anything
out of the ordinary was
taking place except for
the crew and two tense young
passengers peering out the
aircraft windows. Each soon
realized by the location
of the sun that the plane
was changing course from
north to west. Their bluff
had worked. They sighed
with relief, listening to
what was being said around
them. One passenger commented
to a companion about the
plane going west instead
of north, but was rebuffed
by the comment that the
pilot must know what he
was doing.

Suddenly,
a child sitting on the left
side of the plane cried
out, "Look mom, there's
another plane next to ours."
Paszkowski looked through
the window to see a Mig-type
Czechoslovak military plane
very close to their aircraft,
flying at the same speed
and altitude. When he looked
out the window on the other
side, there was another
so close one could see the
pilot. It was clear to Paszkowski
that because their flight
was not following the routine
passenger plane route, the
fighter planes were simply
escorting them during their
passage over Czechoslovakian
soil. The children seemed
to be having a great time,
waving busily at the pilots.
Then, as suddenly as they
appeared, the two Czech
aircraft spun off in a deep
curve, disappearing from
sight. It was obvious they
were now just about over
the West German border.
Soon they would land in
Munich.

The
worst was over, and both
could relax a little. Paszkowski
closed his eyes and numerous
events of the previous two
weeks flashed through his
mind. He was leaving behind
life as a Polish Security
Service officer and the
nightmarish realities of
martial law in Poland and
beginning to think about
the future. The hardships
of the last few weeks suddenly
seemed distant. He could
afford the luxury of dreaming
about how fifteen minutes
from now he would start
a new chapter in his short
but bizarre life.

Paszkowski's
thoughts were abruptly cut
off by the captain's voice:
"Ladies and gentlemen, due
to reasons beyond our control,
we are forced to land in
Munich. Please remain calm,
there is no need for anxiety.
We will soon resume our
flight to Warsaw."

The
plane buzzed with talk.
Passengers speculated that
it must have been a hijacking,
and looked around for the
suspects. Paszkowski and
Staszek sat in their places
quietly. The elderly woman
next to Paszkowski continued
to doze peacefully as the
plane touched down in Munich.

On
August 26, 1982, the Warsaw
daily newspaper, Zycie
Warszawy, ran the following
piece on the lower right-hand
corner of page six:

"Hijacking
of Polish Airplane to
Munich:

The
management of Polish
Airlines LOT informs
that on the 25th of
this month, LOT flight
no. 116 enroute from
Budapest to Warsaw was
hijacked after take
off from Budapest and
landed in the evening
in Munich. Passengers
and the crew were not
hurt. The return of
the airplane with the
passengers to Warsaw
is expected on Thursday
morning. For more information
about the times of arrival,
call 469-645 or 469-670.
According to the Western
media, the hijackers
were two young Poles.
During the flight they
threatened to blow-up
the airplane if the
crew did not redirect
the plane to Munich
airport. The hijackers
were arrested when the
plane landed, and the
explosive materials
were confiscated. There
were 73 passengers aboard."